LatinosUSA

I just pictured the face of a waitress who served me my dinner

around twenty-five years ago at a restaurant I chose out of the blue

in Berkeley.

She was an attractive woman around thirty-five with the saddest

looking face I’d ever seen—or so I thought at the time.

I remember being overly polite when she set down my food—

gratefully thanking her, and then saying, “It looks wonderful!

I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.” To which she didn’t respond,

but just turned and went back into the kitchen to get other meals.

As I continued to observe her, I imagined she must have a very

difficult life, and that maybe she suffered from depression

as I did most of the time.

And as I finish writing this, I’m wondering if her life improved—

as mine eventually did in terms of at least finding my soulmate—

even though I still suffer from depression— a condition that has

been with me in varying degrees throughout my life. . .